Those Who Dwell Below by Aviaq Johnston

Author:Aviaq Johnston
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Inhabit Media
Published: 2019-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

The Owl told Pitu to keep wearing the mask until it felt like a second skin. At first, Pitu felt comfortable wearing it. But now that he knew he was not allowed to remove it, the mask began to feel itchy, and he was too aware of its placement on his face. He could feel the tie at the back of his head and the clammy sweat that was caught between his skin and the mask.

“Have you ever heard stories of how other shamans would travel to her home under the sea?” the Owl asked.

Pitu thought of the shamans he had known in his life. There was Tagaaq’s mother, Angugaattiaq, known to Pitu only through stories and a one‑time encounter with her spirit. There was a man named Imiqqutailaq who had drum danced for the camp once when Pitu was a small boy. There was Taktuq, a revered shaman who had hidden himself in solitude when his power became too much to bear. Tagaaq had shared many stories about Angugaattiaq, but none had mentioned an encounter with Nuliajuk. Imiqqutailaq had only told the story of how he had become a shaman when he visited Pitu’s camp. As for Taktuq, Pitu had heard that the old man had been to visit Nuliajuk, that he had combed her hair to release the animals, but he didn’t know any other details. Taktuq had not been willing to share his past with Pitu, at least not without a certain amount of prodding.

“I have heard stories of shamans going to see her,” Pitu answered. “But without mention of how they went there.”

“All stories tell the same thing,” the Owl said. “What do they do to appease her?”

“They comb her hair,” Pitu replied.

The Owl nodded. “Do you have a comb to bring with you?”

Pitu scrunched his nose. His hair was long and tangled from being bunched up and stuffed into the hood of his parka. As a child, his mother had once brushed through his hair with a comb made from bone, but it kept getting caught in the knots. He had cried out in agony every time the comb had gotten caught and tore a strand or two from his scalp. Since then, he had refused to brush his hair.

“Then you must make one,” the Owl said. The Owl went to a pile of bones on the floor of the cave and sifted through them, just as it had with the masks. When it found a smooth and thin shoulderblade from a seal, the Owl tossed it over to Pitu. “You cannot go to her with a comb you have borrowed. You have to give her your own, or a comb you have made especially for her. This shows how much you value her.”

Pitu picked up the seal shoulderblade, but he didn’t feel that he was much of a carver. He made his own tools, sure, but carving something that had to be decorative as well as purposeful was something he had never been able to do.

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